


First Contact

by bettydice (BettyKnight), codenamecynic



Series: It came from the tumblr-verse [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Crack, Crack Relationships, M/M, Not crack fic, Sorry Not Sorry, otp: hungry eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyKnight/pseuds/bettydice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two fabulous writers combine forces to bring you this beautiful love story. </p><p>I'm not crying, you're crying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Contact

TIM’s robot eye searched for Sparatus’ and when they met, a spark ignited between them. The air turned heated and TIM could feel his implants vibrating all throughout his body. Tonight.

"Tonight?" Sparatus scoffed, glaring with his perfectly organic-yet-holographic eyes across the display of the QEC, glowing with the lusty yet classically reserved interest of a model turian. "We have dismissed these claims. The answer you’re looking for is right now.”

If TIM were a Turian his subharmonics would be conveying his intense arousal and lust. Instead, he had to put all these things into his eyes as he gazed scorchingly at the strapping Turian across him. Thankfully, he had recently downloaded the new SexLook upgrade for his implants, so he hoped that that worked its wonder and Sparatus would feel his desire like lasers piercing through him. Because his eyes were literally shooting lasers right now.

Fortunately for TIM, Sparatus was a veteran turian of 104, and like other turians of 104 who wore suits on a daily basis and found themselves obligated to dismiss the claims of younger, squishier species, he found that he was only able to become aroused by the touch of top of the line military grade hardware. His plates had long ago become ablative, so TIM’s smouldering was the equivalent of a lathe scouring barnacles off the underside of a ship. So, in effect, a light tickle. In his naughty parts.

TIM’s thermal scanner alerted him to the fact that Sparatus’ body temperature was rising rapidly. Growing more confident, he moved his laser eyes in heart shaped patterns across the esteemed councilor’s plates. TIM always had a plan, so naturally he had looked up Turian erogenous zones on the extranet. As his lasers of lust caressed the supple hips of the object of his attentions, he smirked as Sparatus’ growing arousal was clearly visible through his elegant yet formal clothes. He was wearing a dark blue, a colour that reminded him of the endless vastness of space. And Sparatus was the star that burned so bright, he could see nothing else.

Sparatus was in fact feeling a little hot beneath the collar, though as he discovered shortly after the smoke alarm started to beep in his office, it was because he was literally on fire. QEC technology simply hadn’t managed to meet the demand of discerning parties for precision laser caress transmittal technology. Being a stalwart soldier, an unflappable politician, and a veteran of the wars of extranet dating, he put himself out nonchalantly with one hand and did his best to do that thing which his academy textbook on human expressions termed smizing, as the turian equivalent of eyebrow waggling was very hard for lesser species to decipher.

Sparatus’ smize hit him right in the chest with the impact of a thousand angry Shepards. Suddenly, TIM found it hard to breathe, which rarely happened to him now that he had finally replaced his old, rotten smoker lungs. To remind Sparatus, and himself, of the fact that he was a very powerful man not to be trifled with, he took a sip from his whiskey glass, trying to return the smize with a cool gaze. He slightly grimaced as he remembered that there was in fact only apple juice in his glass, because sometimes he just needed something fruity, but he really wished there was some alcohol in there right now.

"Councilor, let us not prolong this unnecessarily. We are both men whose time is precious. How do you want to proceed? I have an apartment on the Citadel, but there are… other possibilites."

He was a human after all, and humans needed to be in charge. And soon, he would be in charge of the Turian in front of him. Sexily.

Not one to be outdone, Sparatus turned his smize up to the strength of Sovereign’s main attack cannon (the claims of which he had continuously dismissed because frankly the paperwork involved with any other course of action left very little time for his amiibo collecting and perusal of hanar porn sites) and looked TIM up and down with the naked hunger of a hung-over vorcha. Humans were tough little pyjaks, but there was nothing that said domination like a turian carpet bombing from orbit. That was the turian reach versus the human, hmm… flexibility.

"Seven o’clock. Don’t be late. Bring the varren collar, a bottle of wine, and a copy of that documentary about Shanxi. Tonight we’re gonna make first contact."


End file.
